


bubblegum down my throat (and it’s a curse)

by Authumnder



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authumnder/pseuds/Authumnder
Summary: He wonders if he’s always been this desperate when it comes to Brady. He’s guessing yes, but a few months ago it was alright, because Brady felt the same, but right now it’s—it’s unwanted. Jimmy would even call it illegal, if he is even allowed to call it anything.
Relationships: Brady Skjei/Jimmy Vesey
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	bubblegum down my throat (and it’s a curse)

**Author's Note:**

> Saw this pic of [Jimmy](https://www.instagram.com/p/B5glzmAFmVC/) which reminds me of Clairo's [Bubble Gum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ptgVKcTYsE) and I just felt like I had to write about it. The planned plot totally went out the window though but I've written this so hope you enjoy!!!
> 
> Also you know that post floating around Tumblr saying Comic Sans font increases creativity? I am... very anal about the fonts I use to write but I decided to experiment and welp,, methinks that theory is actually true like I did this in one-sitting??? Under 3 hours??? AMAZING.
> 
> Sorry in advance for the shittiness! (I'd reason that English isn't my first language but I've been here for 5 yrs so that reason doesn't work dfjdkfjkj).

Jimmy used to think it’s impossible to be awkward around Brady. Like, it’s just simply unimaginable, them stepping carefully around each other, not quite touching, distant and impersonal. As though they didn’t spend some of their lives revolving around each other, sharing space, so much space, conversing about all the things that matter and others that don’t, doing nothing, doing so much nothing together.

They know too much about each other to be awkward. Jimmy likes to think they’re so much better than that. 

Seems that he was wrong, though, tonight. Jimmy was wrong about a lot of things when it comes to Brady, apparently, though he didn’t realise it until a few months ago, still didn’t realise some of it until tonight.

Haysie is telling a story, something about the diner they frequently visited in New York and the eccentric owner, complete with the manic hand-movements and crazy expressions, typical Haysie, and usually it’s hard to ignore him, because Haysie’s a great story-teller, and Jimmy’s missed him like a limb, even after only a few months, but. Jimmy’s supposed to be listening, he knows, paying attention, the chances to do so not a lot now, and yet he isn’t, attention somewhere far away—or not, considering it keeps getting stuck on the person sitting next to him.

Jimmy doesn’t expect a lot—how could he, after that shitty goodbye followed by radio silence?—but he also doesn’t expect the cutting cold that seems to surround them, doesn’t expect the proximity to be choking him quite this tight, doesn’t expect Brady to be downright unfriendly, all sharp smiles that don’t reach his eyes and pointy edges.

“And then she was like, ‘either take that or leave, whatever, I’m not gonna make you another,’ but like, I saw her dropping the eggs on the floor and scraping them back up, what the fuck,” Haysie says. “And the waitress behind the counter was super terrified, she kept making panicked eyes at me, which, what the fuck was I supposed to do?”

Jimmy laughs, but only because it’s appropriate, because Haysie’s clearly trying his best to crack the ice, the stubborn fucking ice, and although nothing budges, his attempt is still dearly appreciated.

In reality, all Jimmy wants is to grab Brady’s arm and take him somewhere else. Brady’s apartment, maybe, or maybe not, that’s too far, too intimate, Jimmy unwelcome, but at this point he’ll take anywhere, even the narrow alley next to the bar they’re in, or somewhere at the back of the building, even next to the smelly dumpster.

He wonders if he’s always been this desperate when it comes to Brady. He’s guessing yes, but a few months ago it was alright, because Brady felt the same, but right now it’s—it’s unwanted. Jimmy would even call it illegal, if he is even allowed to call it anything.

Brady’s drinking shitty beer, sipping on it occasionally, his back straight and he keeps looking ahead, as if it’d hurt his neck if he were to turn right, to Jimmy, even once. Maybe it would. Maybe Brady’s neck really is hurting, what does Jimmy know? Jimmy knows absolutely _nothing_, he doesn’t have any place to speculate.

“So the next customer came in and he didn’t know shit about what was going on, tried to catch the owner’s eyes, except once he did she yelled at him like, really fucking loud, and I swear to God I saw this dude’s life left his eyes,”

When they started the _thing_, Jimmy could’ve never expected it to lead to this, whatever this is. Hell, even a few months ago not talking to Brady seemed like a complete bullshit, though a few months ago they weren’t living 396 miles apart, were still in each other’s orbits, close enough to be touching, close enough for Jimmy to scoot a few inches and intertwine their hands, a few more inches and they could be kissing, sharing breath, a few more inches and there’d be no space left between them at all, glued from shoulders to knees.

Now here they are, sitting next to each other, still close enough to be touching if they want to—though Jimmy imagines he wouldn’t be able to, reaching Brady from where he’s sipping his own shitty beer, something enormous and ugly standing tall between them, unmoving and impossible to breach.

Jimmy thinks about entangling his hand with Brady’s, imagines the warmth he was so used to, missed so badly. He’d do that, thinks he’s brave enough to do that, but the thought of Brady flinching away from his touch, maybe hitting his knees on the table in the process puts the plan to a stop.

Jimmy would never do that to Brady’s knees.

“Here’s the funniest part,” Haysie continues with a laugh.

When the _thing _ended, there was not much talking. It was breakup, Jimmy’s pretty sure, or at least the closest to breakup a thing could be, if ever there was something to be broken in the first place. Though Brady didn’t say it aloud, not like that, only looked at Jimmy with apathetic eyes, said, matter-of-factly, “I don’t wanna continue this.”

Jimmy remembers feeling like his heart lodged itself in his throat. Remembers feeling helpless. Remembers wanting, _dying_, to ask Brady what ‘this’ entails, and wanting, _dying_, to find out what Brady’s answer would be.

He did not ask that aloud. Nodded, instead, numb and dumb and so fucking sad. Then Brady got up from the couch, his back to Jimmy’s peripheral, and that was that. That was the end of the chapter, the next one being Jimmy packing for Buffalo, Jimmy getting on a plane, Jimmy leaving the orbit.

That was the end of the story. 

“Dude, you really don’t appreciate me and my amazing story like, at all,” Haysie’s saying next. Just then Jimmy realises that he’s done with the story, has stopped talking for a while now, waiting for a response that never came either from Brady or Jimmy. He gets up from his seat, glances at Jimmy pointedly. “I’m getting us shots.” He says, and then leaves for the bar.

Brady is still. His glass, Jimmy checks, is empty.

“How are you,” Jimmy asks, finally, after a few more minutes passed.

When Brady said, “I don’t wanna continue this,” Jimmy’d thought ‘this’ mean the part of them where they kiss and bite and fuck, not the part where they cuddle and spend early morning staying on the bed, doing three rounds of rock paper scissors to decide who should make breakfast.

He’d been awfully wrong about that. The most embarrassing part is maybe where he found out about it only after he arrived in Buffalo, took a picture of the hotel he was staying at and sent it to Brady only to receive nothing as a response. Texted him some more about nothing in particular, and then memes, and then funny videos, and still none from Brady.

It took three phone calls—two ignored and one rejected—for Jimmy to finally understand.

When Brady said, “I don’t wanna continue this,” he meant _everything _about them. He meant the part of them where they kiss and bite and fuck, as well as the part where they cuddle and spend early morning on the bed, doing silly games to avoid being the one to make breakfast. Apparently also the part where they simply talk to each other, send each other stupid texts and pictures.

When Brady said, “I don’t wanna continue this,” he meant he wanted nothing to do with Jimmy. Anymore.

“Fine,” Brady says, his voice stony and weird. Jimmy hates to admit it, but he missed that voice like crazy, partly because he has no right to, mostly because a part of him thinks Brady doesn’t deserve to be missed, after everything. “How’s Buffalo?”

Jimmy doubts Brady actually wants to know, but he still launches into a stilted, tiny explanation of his new life in his new city, the team, the new apartment.

“Glad you’re settling alright,” Brady says.

“Thanks,” Jimmy says, for lack of anything else to say. “Missed you, though,”

Immediately Brady’s face hardens, Jimmy can almost tell the exact moment it does. Brady doesn’t say anything.

“I mean it, Brady, I don’t—” Jimmy says, trails off, “—I thought we could still be friends.”

“We’re still friends,” Brady cuts, turning to face Jimmy, and Jimmy’s breath quite literally gets stuck on his throat. So much of Brady is focused at him now, and Jimmy doesn’t know what to do about it, not after literal months of nothing _at all_. It’s too much, he decides, and turns his gaze away from Brady.

“Can we,” Jimmy says, finds that he doesn’t know what he’s asking, and drops it. He fiddles with his hands, staring at them for a moment, before looking up once again. “Can you—” he starts, and then realises he doesn’t want to accept no for this. “Walk me to the hotel?”

Brady stares at him.

“It’s just walking, Brady. I’m not gonna ask you to come in.”

So they do that.

It’s not cold, and the walk isn’t long at all, fifteen minutes top, and fuck, would that be enough at all? This is probably the last time they’d do this. Next time Brady would say no, and the one after that Jimmy wouldn’t bother asking. And then there’d be no next time anymore. It’s depressing.

Jimmy breaks the silence, a minute in, all while his brain keeps screaming _you’re running out of time_. “We’re not friends, though. Not anymore.”

Brady’s steps don’t falter. “We are friends.” He says.

Jimmy laughs. It’s a pathetic thing. “You don’t even want to talk to me, Brady.” He says. “You don’t reply to my texts, you don’t answer my calls.”

“Why’d you stop?” Brady asks. It sounds accusing, which is stupid of him. Brady has no place to accuse Jimmy of something.

“Because you don’t fucking reply?”

“You gave up really quick, though,” Brady says, still not meeting Jimmy’s eyes. He walks faster than before, as if Jimmy wouldn’t hold onto him even after they arrive in the hotel to finish their conversation. “Was like, what, only two weeks? Before you stopped.”

“And what if I didn’t stop? Like fuck you’ll reply to my texts,” Jimmy snaps.

“Maybe I will! Maybe I was testing the waters—”

“What the fuck are you talking about? What fucking waters?”

Brady throws his face away.

“What are you talking about, Brady?” Jimmy asks, softly this time.

Brady doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything at all at first, but a layer of indifference falls from his face, revealing a tired expression and just then—Jimmy realises just how not different from him Brady is. It’s almost like looking into a mirror.

“I know what people say about long distance relationship,” Brady begins, his voice soft and very tiny. Jimmy didn’t think Brady was capable of a voice that small. “That it doesn’t work, most of the time, that people break up midway, reasoning with how hard it is not seeing each other, being far from each other.

“When you were traded, I was—I don’t know. I was plenty messed up. I fucking love you, you know? I do. I didn’t say it, but I do. But you’re not going to live with me anymore, not going to be on the team anymore—and I was. Fuck. Jimmy, I thought I’d make it better for us, by breaking it first.”

Jimmy doesn’t know what to say any of this. His eloquence dies a tragic death right after the word _love _was uttered.

“See if we were gonna make it just as long distance friends, ‘cause I thought that’d be easier, being friends instead of whatever we were, so like. I stopped texting you for a while, to test—to test the waters. See if you were gonna keep doing it, see if you thought I was worth it. Didn’t take you long to stop, did it?”

Jimmy sees another narrow hallway next to a closed store and immediately drags Brady into it. Brady lets out a high-pitched squeak, but before he could say anything Jimmy’s already crashing into him, hugging his middle so tightly that Jimmy would be _shocked _if Brady doesn’t have problem breathing.

“You fucking,” Jimmy whispers, and it comes out teary and pained. “You fucking fucker,”

“What,” Brady says, apparently still doesn’t get it, the stupid ass, but his arms are already encircling Jimmy’s body, so he’s maybe forgiven.

“You stupid bastard,” Jimmy says again, because cursing Brady in his mind isn’t doing it for him. He’s still squeezing the life out of Brady though, so maybe the vicious line isn’t going to work. “I am in love with you, you dumb fuck. When you refused to pick up your phone I thought that was it, you wanted nothing to do with me anymore. So I stopped, because I have a fully functioning brain that told me it was creepy and shameless of me if I keep sending you messages when you so clearly wanted nothing of it.”

Brady stops hugging him then, pushing Jimmy away just a little bit so they can face each other. When their gazes meet it feels like—like something really great, sorry, Jimmy’s fully functional brain isn’t working properly right now, furthermore when Brady lowly curses and yanks him into a kiss.

A fantastic, exceptional, absolute best of a kiss, if he might add.

“Don’t do that anymore,” Jimmy says, their foreheads still resting against each other. “Don’t ignore me again.”

“I won’t.” Brady says, so sure, and Jimmy just ought to peck him again on the lips for that.

It goes on for a few moments, until one of them finally realises that they’re still standing in the middle of a creepy hallway, and breaks the kiss.

“We should move this somewhere else,”

“I don’t have curfew,” Jimmy says. “I told the coach I’m meeting old friends and he let me stay late,”

Brady grins. God, how did Jimmy think he could live without seeing that directed to him ever again?

“You should tone it down a bit,” Jimmy says and, when Brady raises an eyebrow in question, helplessly continues with, “You’re so fucking pretty, Skjei, it’s fucking impossible to, like, move on from you.”

“Then don’t,” Brady replies with a shit-eating grin. “Let’s get a taxi, yeah? My place?”

As if Jimmy could say anything but _fuck yeah_ to do that. And, judging from Brady’s cocky eyebrows and knowing smile, he knows that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading this!!! Kudos & comments are very very very welcome and will be accepted with open arms ♡♥
> 
> Talk to me on [Tumblr](http://sideswiped.tumblr.com)! (I freak out like a lot over there.)


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